A Distant Voice in the Darkness
by sailorhathor
Summary: Dean and Sam head back to Vermont to try to pick up the Mothman's trail, while Paul deals with his haunted apartment. People brush past each other, so close by, but all just out of reach.
1. Ships that pass in the night

**A Distant Voice in the Darkness**  
A _Miracles/Supernatural_ Cross-over  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

**Chapters:** Separated into 3 Parts; 1 of 3  
**Rating:** Adult Supervision Suggested for those under 13 for bad language (including several uses of the F word)  
**Dates:** Written July 2006  
**Summary:** Dean and Sam head back to Vermont to try to pick up the Mothman's trail, while Paul deals with his haunted apartment. People brush past each other, so close by, but all just out of reach. A _Miracles/Supernatural_ cross-over, which slashes Dean Winchester/Paul Callan. (But there is no sex in this story.)  
**Timeline:** Happens after the _Supernatural_ episode "The Benders" and before "Shadow," which moves the _Miracles_ timeline up to 2006.  
**Warning:** Contains spoilers for all of _Miracles_ and _Supernatural_ up to "The Benders."  
**Betas:** Thanks to Meredevachon and KaijaWest for the excellent, helpful beta reads.  
**Author's Notes:** Sequel to "Fate is an Engineer" and "FiaE: The Lost Scenes." Continues directly from those stories. Thanks to ducky for coming up with the term "karmic displacement" for the ability I created for Eric Coleman. One of my online friends, Sarah, actually said the thing about Dean being "John's bitch" in a conversation we had. This story makes reference to a fic I have planned to write soon that will crossover "Supernatural" and the _Scream_ movie trilogy. It contains a big spoiler for _Scream_.  
John Michael Osbourne is Ozzy Osbourne's real name.

The story has been broken into three parts to make it easier to read on the internet.

_Previously on Laurel's remix of "Miracles" and "Supernatural"..._

Ahead Alva saw Paul, lying on his back on a sloping hill with the cherry blossoms falling around him; his clothes and hair were littered with soft pink bits of vegetative silk, and he gazed up at the sky, an idyllic look upon his face. Paul seemed completely unaware of the young girl lying at his side.

The girl absently picked a few petals off Paul's coat. "Mr. Keel, you're dreaming..."

She looked long and hard at Paul. "Isn't it strange that God would put such power in such a fragile package? Sometimes I think it's a bad system."

Standing back up, Alva shielded his eyes with his hand so he could examine the storm clouds better. This was an obvious symbol, of the coming Apocalypse... The clouds seemed to be filled with underlying noise - rumbling, screaming, and this horrible cracking sound that seemed like it would never end...

It was near dawn when Dean woke up in the bed alone. He rubbed his eyes and glanced around. Huh, where was...?

He sleepwalks.

Though still groggy, Dean did his best to spring out of bed to look for Paul. Luckily, Dean didn't have to go very far because the man was standing in the living room... hovering over the couch, staring down at the sleeping Sam.

Paul looked at him with a troubled expression, brow furrowed, but this look was far more hard-edged than anything Dean had seen of Paul so far. "People are so fragile. I don't always understand why they are given these tasks." He sighed. "Sometimes I think it's a bad system."

Forming his hands into a ball, Paul, or rather, the Forces, began making a very unsettling sound. "Crrrrrrrrraaaaaaack..." it sounded like, and Paul opened his hands so the little "globe" he'd formed with them broke in two...

Sam unfolded the letter their father had written most of the way and started to read a passage that caught his eye. "...'I was distracted, so I didn't notice the boy walking the top of the jungle gym until it was too late. He called to me that he was practicing his balance, and then I heard him yelp as he lost it. A meaty thud followed... He started to scream and cry. By the time I reached him, his busted lip had bled quite a bit, along with the spot where he'd knocked out two baby teeth. The blood pooled on the pavement where he'd fallen. I picked him up to comfort him and try to stop the bleeding. The woman I'd met that day at the park ran over with my... other son... in her arms, and she scared us all when she pointed and shrieked at the pool of blood. The blood had formed words. It formed the words God is Nowhere...'"

_Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing;  
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;  
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,  
Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and a silence._  
**Henry Wadsworth Longfellow** 1807-82: _Tales of a Wayside Inn_ pt. 3 (1874)

**_Part 1: Ships that pass in the night_**

"Sammy, who? Which one of us is the 'God is Nowhere' person!"

Sam looked at him with worried eyes. "'My son does not remember this incident because he was too young. He couldn't even read yet. When this thing happened, I had my baby Sammy lying on a park bench so I could change his diaper. My older son Dean climbed up on the jungle gym...' It's you, Dean. The letter is about you."

Dean fell silent, his brow furrowed in disbelief. All he could do was picture Paul's face when he said his dad had made an entry in his journal about the 'God is Nowhere' people. Paul had been horrified at the idea that maybe John Winchester could be one of them. What would Paul think if he knew _Dean_ was a 'God is Nowhere' person? "That's crazy."

"Why would Dad write a thing like this if it wasn't true?" Sam took hold of Dean's sleeve and shook it lightly to keep his attention; Dean had that far off look in his eyes. "Do you have any memory of this?"

Dean, shrugging, said, "I was five. I remember falling and busting my mouth because it hurt, and shit like that leaves an impression when you're five. But that's it. Like Dad said, I couldn't read."

Sam started reading the letter again; there was more. "'After this happened, Dean began having dreams about...'" His eyes widened, and he took a ragged, surprised breath. "'...about a boy named Paul.'"

His head snapping over to stare at Sam, Dean exclaimed, "You've gotta be kidding me!" He snatched the letter out of Sam's hand to read it for himself. "Oh my God... 'My son told me he dreamed of Paul being three years old, sitting on his _father's lap_, only he doesn't know it's his father.' Fuckin' hell."

"Does Paul not know his dad?"

"No, he doesn't even know his father's name. Paul's dad never acknowledged him, and his mom died when he was real young, so he wound up in an orphanage." Dean took a deep breath and let it out, trying to digest all this. "This must be why the Mothman brought us together. This whole 'God is Nowhere' thing."

"Is there anything else there about dreams?" Sam asked, reaching for the paper.

Although Dean let his brother hold one side of their father's letter, he did not let go of it. "There's something... 'Dean had other dreams that were too vague for him to describe in detail. Something about this boy, Paul, becoming an adult, and meeting his father again, only he still has no idea this man is his father. These dreams in particular agitated Dean because he was convinced that Paul's dad was a very dangerous man, and seemed to want to protect Paul from him.' Holy crap, Sam."

"Who was this woman Dad was meeting at the park that day? Is she involved?" Sam pulled the letter closer to him; Dean finally let go, not sure he wanted to hear anymore. Paul was going to completely freak out when he heard this. Taking a few seconds to scan the page, Sam finally said, "Ah. Dad was meeting some woman named Lydia Goodwell."

"Oh I've had it." Dean smacked the steering wheel, then put a hand over his eyes, shaking his head.

"What?"

He sighed. "Goodwell. Does he say why?"

"No. Who's Lydia Goodwell?" asked Sam.

"I don't know, but someone else named _Chad_ Goodwell went around trying to kill all the 'God is Nowhere' people sometime in the past. Paul was telling me about it when we were interrupted by Copzilla."

Sam just sat with his mouth open for several seconds. "Shit. Dean, we've got to go back up there. Paul needs to tell us everything he knows. You could be in danger here."

"I'm always in danger. Mostly from the wild chicks I pick up."

Ignoring Dean's effort to shrug off the concern with a joke, Sam continued, "Where is Chad Goodwell now? For all we know, he could still be out there, ready to pick you off like a sniper."

Dean shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. Paul gave me the impression that this dude's killing spree was somehow over."

"We still need answers, Dean. You need to tell Paul about these dreams you had. He has a right to know."

Dean simply started the car as his response.

"Dean?"

"We've gotta go, Sammy. We're heading back to Vermont, remember?"

"Why won't you go back upstairs and talk to Paul about this?"

With a sigh, Dean shut the car back off and took several seconds to stare out the windshield, thinking. "You didn't see his face, Sam. When I told him Dad had made an entry in his journal about these people, the ones who saw 'God is Nowhere,' his face went stark white. I thought Paul was gonna throw up or something. He really thought Dad might be one these people. What's Paul gonna say when he finds out it's _me_?"

Sam, caught between what he knew and the knowledge he could not yet reveal to Dean, eventually shook his head. "I... I don't know."

"I need time to digest this, Sammy. I know it's not like me, but I need a little time to decide... to decide how I'm gonna tell 'im. Okay? It's just too much. The last few days, they've been... overwhelming, and..."

Sam realized he could be watching his brother come apart. It's not like it hadn't happened before... Dean was human, after all, not a superman like he tried to pretend. Sam knew from things he'd said that Dean had been beside himself with worry while Sam was missing. Then he met Paul, and there were things going on there that Sam could not yet admit he knew... obviously, Paul's opinion of Dean mattered to him already. Was Dean afraid that he'd _lose_ Paul because of this? Was he...

There was something else going on here, too, something Sam found very strange. He'd feel Dean out; see if the time was right to ask if he'd noticed it. Right now, Sam could see that his brother was still trying to hide just how frazzled he was, but the words that were coming out of his mouth were betraying the calm exterior he was trying to portray. Sam knew he had to give Dean the time he needed when he noticed the hand that Dean still had on the steering wheel was shaking. "Okay, Dean, okay. What do you want to do?"

Sighing with relief, Dean replied, "I want to go to Vermont and try to pick up the Mothman's trail, like we planned. I'm all set for that. We can come back here in a day or two. Then... we'll talk to Paul. I'm not in any danger from this Goodwell guy, not anymore. Alright?"

"Alright."

"Al_right_." Dean started the Impala again, and backed out of the parking lot.

Their conversation was not finished, though. "Can I ask you a few questions without you freakin' out?"

"Depends."

"You have no memory of these dreams you had about Paul."

Dean shook his head, pulling out onto the street and turning in the direction of the highway. "No, man. I was five. Only traumatic stuff or really happy stuff sticks in your mind from that age, ya know?"

"So when you met Paul, you didn't experience any recognition of him?" Sam asked.

"No, I didn't recognize _Paul_. But I did think wow, he sure looks like somebody." Dean gave Sam a glance. "You know who I'm talking about. You have eyes."

So Dean _had_ noticed what was very strange about Paul. Sam didn't have to give it any thought; he nodded as he said, "He looks _a lot_ like Billy Loomis, doesn't he? It's... it's actually eerie how much he looks like him."

Nodding too, Dean added, "It didn't hit me just how much until later that night. Paul, he could be... he could be what Billy would look like now... if he'd lived."

Sam paused a long time before saying, "You still blame yourself, don't you?"

Dean thought about it, about California and 1995 and all the friends he made there. "Always," he finally replied, absently rubbing his neck.

Sam, cringing, felt for his brother. No matter how many years would pass, he could never fix this for Dean. Dean would always blame himself for how things turned out. "What do you make of it, the resemblance between them? You think maybe... they're related?"

Dean was happy to have the subject semi-changed. "I don't think so. Paul said he had no family left."

"Then what?"

After giving it a little thought, Dean shook his head.

"What do you think? Doppelganger? Shape-shifter? You were closer to Billy than I was." Sam deliberately phrased it that way, because he now suspected there had been a sexual component to Billy and Dean's relationship. Puzzle pieces were coming together. The time he had come into Dean's room without knocking and saw Billy and Dean sitting on Dean's bed with their shirts off, Dean leaning toward the other boy, and the horrified look on his face when the door opened, like he'd been caught at something. Dean had thrown a pillow at Sam and yelled for him to get out, to knock next time.

If Dean had been hiding his bisexuality all this time, for ten years or more, Sam wanted to be told. He didn't want to have to ask Dean, and he didn't want to drag it out of him. Sam wanted his brother to tell him this secret. After all they had been through together, he felt Dean owed it to him somehow.

But Dean just shook his head instead. "No. Your typical doppelganger legend just doesn't fit this scenario. And we've seen a shape-shifter in action. Billy just... he didn't fit that."

"Maybe Billy isn't the shape-shifter." Sam had to say it. Perhaps someone was trying to manipulate Dean after all.

But Dean shook his head at that too. "Paul's no shape-shifter. He's too real."

Sam just nodded. "It's weird. Another oddity to add to the pile of stuff we've got to figure out, I guess. I mean, you've met them both. Spent time with them." Sam took a dramatic pause, in case Dean wanted to add anything. In classic Dean fashion, he did not. "And here they look a lot alike. Pretty freakin' strange."

"Yeah."

Sam waited for him to say more, but he didn't. "That's all you've got to say about it?"

"Don't know what else to say," Dean shrugged. "They aren't doppels and they're not shape-shifters. They just look alike. That's all we know right now." He fell silent again, watching the road.

_Tell me tell me tell me!_ Sam screamed inside. He should have known it wouldn't be this easy. With a sigh, Sam changed the subject. "I've got another one for you."

"What?"

"I know I fell asleep on you at some point, but I do remember you telling me yesterday that some girl named Savannah had been the one Mr. Keel had hired to follow us and take pictures for that file."

"That's right," Dean confirmed.

"And somehow, this Savannah had gotten a picture of the _inside_ of the _Impala's trunk_." An edge crept into Sam's voice.

Dean knew where this was going. He mentally kicked himself in the ass. "Yeah."

"Dean, _how_ did this girl, oh, let me correct myself - how did _Savvy_ get that picture?"

Wincing, Dean could tell that Sam knew exactly how the girl had gotten such a precious photograph. If Dad knew about it, he'd tear Dean a new asshole. "I opened the trunk and showed her the weapons."

"Dean!" Sam ran a hand over his face. "Why did you _do_ that!"

"Girl has a gun fetish."

It was like someone poked Sam with a cattle prod, the reply was that unexpected and shocking. "_What?_"

"Guns make her hot, man."

He just stared at Dean like he'd grown another head, which, even for the Winchesters, would be weird. "She told you guns got her excited, so you showed her some?"

"Pretty much," said Dean a little sheepishly.

Sam started banging the back of his head against the Impala's seat, half-laughing and half in disbelief. "Holy shit. Is there anything you won't do for a little tail?"

"I don't know. We haven't found anything I won't do yet." Dean looked over at his brother and grinned. "Come on, Sammy, it's a _little_ funny."

"Hey, you know I'm not that worried about the file." Sam put up his hands in surrender. "I just hope Dad doesn't get wind of this."

"_I'm_ certainly not telling him."

"Speaking of Dad, we should call him. He's got some stuff to explain about this letter, and what he was doing with Lydia Goodwell." Sam got out his cell phone.

Dean pursed his lips. "Good luck..." he mumbled.

Sam still heard it. "I'll leave him a voicemail. Maybe he'll think this is important enough to call back." While Sam dialed, Dean merged onto the highway that headed west. Of course, John Winchester did not answer. Sam waited for the line to switch to voicemail. "Hey Dad, it's Sam. Dean and I found something in the back of the journal. Seems you hid a letter back there about the 'God is Nowhere' phenomena? So, we've got some things we'd like to ask, as you can imagine. Like, who's Lydia Goodwell, and what does she have to do with Chad? Oh, and we found Paul. He's a real person. Please call us back, Dad, okay? Bye."

After Sam hung up, Dean commented, "You were too pushy. He'll never call back."

"You don't think this kind of thing warrants a little pushiness? It's kind of a big deal to keep from you, isn't it?"

"Dad was just trying to protect me, like he said in the letter."

Sighing, Sam laid his head back on the seat. "It's amazing how you always do that. You always make excuses for him."

"Let's not start this shit again, Sammy," was Dean's curt response.

Almost an hour went by, the two of them driving on in temporary silence, before Sam's phone made the noise to indicate it had just received a text message. Both men looked at it with interest. "Is that _Dad_?"

"Yes," Sam replied, and read the message aloud. "Dad says, _'Put the letter back. Lydia is... Chad's mother.'_"

Amazed, Dean waited for more. "Is that all?"

"Yeah..." Sam was quickly typing back a message. "I'm sending, _'Dad, call.'_"

They waited. Sam got another text message. _'LatR, cant now,'_ it said, written partially in typical text message shorthand.

"Hey, there's some headway. Dad said he'd call later," Dean said with a big smile.

"I just hope he makes good on that promise," Sam responded. "So what do you think it all means? Dad meeting this woman all those years ago on the same day you see those words, and then later, her son goes on a killing spree? This just gets weirder and weirder."

Dean didn't really have anything to say about it. A part of him just hoped it would all go away. It was easier to deal with the supernatural when it wasn't so personal. "I won't have a clue until Dad calls back."

Echoing Dean's words, Sam said, "Good luck," with a teasing smirk. He added, "So... what's your big idea for picking up the Mothman's trail, anyway?"

"Well, you said when you shot it, it bled, right? We just go back to that spot and look for the trail of blood. It might not be there anymore, but what if it is? It _glows green._ Shouldn't be too hard to follow." Dean motioned with his palm flat, facing down, to the path ahead of them, the one they would follow.

"We really should have told Mr. Keel that I shot it. I was just too out of it to remember every detail. But it seems important, doesn't it?"

Dean shrugged. He couldn't care less what Keel knew.

Sam's face grew a bit apprehensive at his next thought. "Um, Dean... what are we going to do if at the end of that trail, we find the Mothman?"

With confidence, Dean drove and started to pick through his cassettes for some driving music. "We'll be armed. It can be injured. You proved it."

Sam tried to stop being scared of this thing. It was big and fast, but Dean was right. He'd shot it. It could be killed. It would not take him again. "Right."

Finding a tape he liked, Dean smiled gently and took it out of the case, popping it into the Impala's tape deck. It was some band Sam wasn't familiar with. That was no big deal.

But the song was a power ballad. About _love_.

Sam looked at his brother with that doofy smile on his face and wondered what Paul Callan had done with Dean.


	2. Only a signal shown

**A Distant Voice in the Darkness**  
A _Miracles/Supernatural_ Cross-over  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

**Chapters:** Separated into 3 Parts; 2 of 3  
**Rating:** Adult Supervision Suggested for those under 13 for bad language (including several uses of the F word)  
**Dates:** Written July 2006  
**Summary:** Dean and Sam head back to Vermont to try to pick up the Mothman's trail, while Paul deals with his haunted apartment. People brush past each other, so close by, but all just out of reach. A _Miracles/Supernatural_ cross-over, which slashes Dean Winchester/Paul Callan. (But there is no sex in this story.)  
**Timeline:** Happens after the _Supernatural_ episode "The Benders" and before "Shadow," which moves the _Miracles_ timeline up to 2006.  
**Warning:** Contains spoilers for all of _Miracles_ and _Supernatural_ up to "The Benders."  
**Betas:** Thanks to Meredevachon and KaijaWest for the excellent, helpful beta reads.

**_Part 2: Only a signal shown_**

For his own part, Paul had gone back into his apartment thinking of how much he couldn't wait for Dean and Sam to come back from Vermont with news. Yes, it was the news of the Mothman he was looking forward to, nothing more.

He spent about 45 minutes puttering around the apartment, trying to get some cleaning done, although almost every effort quickly ended in him wincing and finally giving up as the pain in his hands was too great. Housecleaning sure was strenuous with busted hands. Oh well. It would have to wait.

Keel would probably be over soon to get the coffee table, and...

Paul noticed one of Dean's crystals still sitting in the corner. The protection he'd put up to keep the Mothman from getting to Sam while they were gone... why that little sneak. Dean had left the protective wall up. Probably to keep ghosts out. Well, Paul wasn't going to let that slide; he immediately walked over and picked up the crystal he'd seen.

Instantly, he heard Keel's teenage sister crying behind him. She was curled up on the couch with her knees pulled to her chest. Paul shouldn't have been surprised, but he was, and he turned and then sighed when he saw her. "You're back, huh?" He tried not to sound annoyed, but he couldn't help a little slipping out.

"You don't like me," she said, sobbing.

Paul sighed again, looking up at the ceiling. "I don't even know you. I'm just... I like my privacy, okay? You've picked some bad times to show up, you know."

Leighandra seemed to think that over, and asked, "Are you a poofter?"

Paul just gaped at her; with her heavy Scottish accent, that had sounded pretty funny. "What's a poofter?"

"Gay. Are you gay? You were with that unpleasant roustabout."

Paul laughed a little uneasily. "No, I'm not gay."

"Then what are you?"

He scratched the back of his head. "I don't know what I am anymore." In the past, it had always been about easing emotional turmoil. He'd never wanted a man like this, not repeatedly, not with a longing that seemed it would never end.

Leighandra tried to stop her incessant crying, wiping her nose. "I've had boyfriends. I know how it feels to want a guy like him. The rough and tumble type. But he's not what you want for all time."

Paul, rolling his eyes, replied, "Thanks for the tip." His tone was unmistakably sarcastic. Like he wanted relationship advice from a crybaby ghost. "So what's your purpose for being here? Have you got a message? Something you want to say to your brother?" _Move it along, other spectres to talk to, take a number and have a seat._

Leighandra shrugged. "To Mango? Nah. I just... want to spend time with you."

If it hadn't been so damn depressing, Paul would have laughed. This is what his life was reduced to... one session after another of 'spending time' with ghosts. "Ah. Well, I'm not staying. Keel's coming over soon so we can go into the office and fix my table."

"Sometimes, I like to just stand here in the window and feel the sun on my face."

Paul turned to the window behind him in surprise; Vivian Keel was there, standing in the window, just like she'd said, wearing only a silky white nightgown. The woman looked tired, rundown. She ran a hand over the back of her neck. In such a lack of clothing, with the mid-morning sun highlighting her features, Mrs. Keel looked fairly desirable. Lovely. Paul wondered why Dr. Keel had treated her so bad. Obviously, her husband's cheating heart had just about driven the woman insane. "Mrs. Keel?"

She turned to him. "Good morning, Paul."

"Are you... all right?"

Vivian's face became tight. "After your lover shot me? I'm about as fine as a dead person can be. That hurt, by the way. But you can't really injure a ghost. Just sent me away for a while."

"Oh. I have no idea how it works. I'm sorry it hurt, but you... uh, you were behaving badly." Wow, did that sound stupid. How else did one put it?

"You'll have to excuse my occasional rages. My children did." Vivian crossed to the dining room table, running her finger over it as if she was checking for dust. "That's what he is, right? Your lover?"

Now Paul's face became tight. He glared into her crystal blue eyes as she sized him up, testing him. Was the woman just crazy or did this have a point? "I don't know. We just met the other day."

"He behaves like a lover. Very protective of you."

"I think anyone would be when a ghost was rampaging around the room like a spoiled child."

Vivian tittered, sashaying closer. "Now you know there's more to it than that. You're _always_ the good little Catholic boy, aren't you?"

Paul had lost all patience with her; she was an invader in his home, riding him for no reason at all. "What's your problem, lady? Why do you keep coming back here?"

She started to answer, but Paul didn't hear her because Leighandra asked something from behind him that shocked him to his core. "Who are you talking to?" she asked.

Paul looked at her sharply. Leighandra wasn't looking at him; she was dejectedly staring at the floor with a lost, lonely appearance. "What did you say?"

Now Vivian asked the same question. "Who are you talking to?" Her tone was patronizing, like she was amused with her son's pet psychic.

Paul looked from one woman to another with his mouth open in disbelief. "You... you can't see each other?"

"There's no one else here, dear boy." Vivian made a big show of feeling his forehead for fever.

Her hand felt cold to him. He didn't slap it off; he was too devastated by the thought that two people who should have been reunited in death were damned to walk the Earth alone, unaware of their loved one. "But... your daughter."

Vivian slowly took her hand away, searching his face with her eyes. "Leighandra?"

"She's _here_." Paul looked at the couch. "She's right there."

Leighandra looked up with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. "Who... you can't be talking to..."

Vivian did not move for several seconds while she tried to decide if Paul was playing some sort of mean trick on her to get even with her for being cruel to him. But a part of her knew he was not that kind of man. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "You're a medium. They said you were a medium. That means you can see... _all_ the dead." Vivian's bottom lip trembled.

Paul swallowed hard. "But you knew I was seeing Leighandra. You told Dean not to talk to her that way again, after he cussed at her."

"But _I_ can't see her. I hear about her after-death activities through the beings on the other side," Vivian explained. Her voice had begun to break. "The afterlife is full of non-human beings who know things we never can."

These were the moments when Paul wished he could turn off the empathy. Sometimes, it had a mind of its own. His own bottom lip trembled. "Mrs. Keel, please don't cry."

"But it's my baby. My baby, and I can never see her. No one will tell me why." Vivian dramatically rushed at the couch, throwing herself onto the opposite end from her daughter, though she didn't know. She beat at the cushions. "Where is she? I want to hold her! Show me where my baby is!" Her tears overtook her and she sobbed uncontrollably.

Leighandra watched Paul's face begin to crumple as he too was overwhelmed. "What's the matter?"

Paul tried to hold back the tears of Mrs. Keel. Their emotions became his. He crossed and sat on the couch between them. "Mrs. Keel, she's here. Right here." He put an arm around Leighandra. The girl felt cold. Paul briefly wondered why Raina had felt warm, if they felt cold.

Vivian crawled on her knees to the other side of the couch. She put out her hands desperately... and they went right through Leighandra. "Why can't I see her? Why can't I touch her? Why, Paul?"

"I don't know... I wish I knew..."

Leighandra started to shake her head. "You aren't talking to my mother. If you were, then that would mean she was dead, and I would be with her."

That was all Paul could take. He began to cry, snuffling hard. "Leigh..."

"Only my family can call me that!" She beat on his chest. Paul let her, though he tried to get a hold of her flailing hands. Leighandra's attack, though, quickly subsided as she collapsed into tears again.

He held her comfortingly. "I'm sorry. Your mother died some time ago. She's here, but for some reason, you can't see each other. It doesn't mean she's not here." Paul sobbed so hard he couldn't speak for a few seconds. "But I'm going to figure out why, and I'll bring you together. I promise."

Leighandra cried on his shoulder while Vivian put her head on his knees and had herself a good cry, too. There was nothing Paul could do to resist the pull of sadness and grief that had ensnared him. They were both so lonely. He could not tell if the intense loneliness he was feeling himself was due to them, or his own loneliness for Dean to return. Paul had tried to deny to himself that he even felt that longing. Vivian was right.

Always the good Catholic boy.

advitd

Out on the highway, Dean suddenly and quite unexpectedly teared up. He wasn't expecting it; after all, it came out of nowhere. But there he was, lip trembling, breath hitching, eyes watering, and suddenly, Dean sobbed and began to cry.

Sam looked at him, horrified and surprised. "Dean! What's the matter?"

"Fuck if I know!" Dean was obviously just as shocked at this as Sam was. "Out of nowhere, I felt like - " Dean flinched, looked around, and checked the rearview mirror. "The hell?"

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"I just... I _felt_ Paul, like he was in the car with us. Like, some sort of... _essence_ of him."

Sam looked quite confused. "Maybe we should call him. Make sure he's okay."

"Yeah." Dean dug out his cell phone. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, sniffling; the urge to cry had passed as quickly as it had come. Usually, he'd let Sammy make the call so he could drive, but Paul was _crying_. Dean somehow knew it. He'd felt it.

After dialing, Dean waited for Paul to answer like a man waiting to hear if his loved one had been killed in the car crash. "If he doesn't answer, we are turning around and - "

"Dean?" Paul had Caller ID; he knew who was calling. He'd already memorized Dean's number.

He was snuffling.

"Paul, why are you crying?" was Dean's first question.

"Uhh... Mrs. Keel and her daughter were just here. The phone ringing somehow, I don't know, sent them away? They couldn't see each other and it upset them. I was sucked in."

"What happened to my wards!"

"I found the crystals and removed one. You sneaky jerk."

Dean was glad to hear that joking laughter in Paul's voice. Meant he was alright. "What'd you do that for?"

"We already talked about this," Paul replied simply.

"Yeah, whatever. What do you mean you were sucked in?"

"Their emotions were so strong, they became my emotions. I was overcome." Paul didn't seem to realize that Dean had no idea that he was empathic.

"What do you mean, overcome? Paul, I just _felt_ you in this car. It was like you were really here, in the backseat," Dean explained.

"I never felt him," Sam revealed.

Dean glanced over at his brother. "What? How could you not have; it was super strong. Like he was in my fuckin' lap or something."

Not able to help it, Sam grinned, and teased, "I thought he was in the backseat."

Dean almost blushed. Holy crap, Dean almost _blushed_. "Whatever. But you never felt anything?"

"No."

"Paul, did you hear that?"

"Yeah." Paul thought it over. "Dean, I'm an empath."

It all made sense, then. "Oh..." Looking at Sam, Dean repeated, "Paul's an empath."

Sam echoed, "Ohhh," and nodded his head. "Projective, then."

"He'd have to be." Dean spoke into the phone again. "So you're a projective empath."

"I never was _projective_ before," said Paul, astonished. "Keel and I discussed it, I tried to make him feel something, and nothing happened. But... you started crying, didn't you?"

Dean answered, "Yes, I did. Out of nowhere, just started bawling. That's not exactly something I do often."

"Wow."

"Okay, we're all knowledge badasses when it comes to the supernatural. Theories, gentlemen?" Dean grinned at his brother.

Sam trotted one out. "I felt nothing. You got the whole of the projected emotions. You also felt Paul's essence in your... backseat. It's an empathic connection."

"Between just me and Paul."

"Makes the most sense, doesn't it?"

Dean let out a sigh. He liked Paul, but this was great. Just _great_. Like he needed somebody else's emotions making him cry for no reason like some PMSing teenage girl. "Did you hear that?" he asked Paul, sounding so not happy about the theory.

"Yes." Paul heard the disdain in Dean's voice; it hurt his feelings. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to establish an empathic connection between us. It just sort of happened."

Dean sighed again, making an attempt to soften up on this issue. Paul had done it unconsciously because... well, Dean knew why. It started to touch him in places he rarely acknowledged, that Paul was just concerned about him, that Paul... Paul cared for him. A tiny little smile touched his lips. "Oh, it's okay, Paul. I guess I don't mind the Paul Callan Mindmeld so much. Just, try to get more control over it, okay? I don't need to be crying like a little baby at the drop of _your_ hat."

Paul nodded as he said, "Okay. Okay, I'll work on it." Testing the waters, he offered, "I could always work on removing the connection between us completely."

Dean smiled that little smile again. "No. No need to do that."

That made Paul smile too, and put him in a joking mood. "Um, since the Keels have gone, I need to freshen up before the littlest Keel gets here. Call me later, if you find anything mothy, okay?"

"Of course. Bye, Metrosexual." Dean hung up smirking.

He had forgotten all that Sam was not supposed to be aware of. Sam burst out laughing. "Metrosexual? Man, he is! _Really_ metrosexual."

Dean started chuckling too. "You should see his closet."

Still laughing, Sam poked his brother's arm. "You had the perfect opportunity to ask him about 'God is Nowhere.' Why'd you get off the phone?"

"He had to go. Besides, were you not present for the conversation we just had?" Dean sounded angry now, but he punctuated the sentence with a loud snuffle.

Sam got him a tissue out of the glove compartment. "Okay, okay, fine." He paused for comedic effect. "You don't have to cry about it."

advitd

With the help of Mr. Bongiovi, Alva and Paul got the coffee table into the back of Alva's car. Paul wasn't able to help much because of his injured hands. They took the table to the SQ office, where they consulted one of Alva's fix-it books for ideas on how to repair the damage. Conversation about the supernatural began easily enough, though Paul had to choose some of his words carefully.

"...Adding in the fact that Tommy looked older and fairly healthy, I'd say that his purpose for being here is not evil in nature. I believe that he chose to come back," Alva was saying.

"Why?" Paul asked. He handed Alva a screwdriver to use on the side of the coffee table on which he was working.

"Well, you said he was feeding you helpful information, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then Tommy's come back to help you."

Paul let out a small laugh, examining the crack in the top of the table. "I _knew_ that. But why? Is this a typical thing that ghosts do?" His tone sounded a bit skeptical and questioning.

Giving it some thought, Alva replied, "Hm... Tommy fed you helpful information from the other side regarding a case that turned out to be fairly supernatural in nature. The Mothman and all. He seems to be working in harmony with the forces within you... you didn't experience any internal conflict while speaking with him."

"No, not at all."

"Well..." Alva leaned up from where he'd been gazing under the table. "...those sound like the actions of a spirit guide."

Paul, eyes wide, stared at Alva. "Spirit guide?"

"Practically every real psychic you could name has one. Most have multiple guides." Alva stared back, raising an eyebrow.

"But, a child?"

"You and Tommy had a certain rapport, didn't you?"

Sighing, Paul went back to inspecting the crack in the table. "What do I need with a spirit guide?"

"As a mediator between those forces within you and yourself."

"Er, maybe," shrugged Paul.

Alva looked at Paul again with a little frustration in his eyes. "Paul... I know this is all very weird to you. But these things really do happen." An amused smile came to his face. "Are you _always_ going to be this skeptical?"

"Someone's gotta be." He took back the screwdriver. "You would've had us taking that chupacabra case otherwise. I mean, really, Keel - the chupacabra?" Paul scoffed.

Just smirking, Alva laid his hand on the tabletop. "You've got a choice here, Paul. The table is cracked all the way through on this corner. We can either fit the crack back together and glue it, or replace the tabletop completely."

Paul visibly cringed. "The second option sounds expensive. But the table will look like crap if we just put the crack back together."

"Perhaps we can sand it down a bit. Have you ever wanted a glass top? A panel of glass would probably cover the crack nicely, distract the eye from it," suggested Alva.

"Maybe. Let me think about it. Let's repair these things on the side first."

They worked in silence for a few minutes while Paul tried to decide how to ask his next few questions. He wasn't getting much work done anyway, what with his hurt hands. "Hey Keel, give me your impressions on something."

"All right."

He would have to make the scenario as generic as possible. Paul didn't like that, but he also couldn't tell Keel his own mother was visiting him, taunting him, and that the teenage sister Keel had lost over thirty years ago was sobbing her heart out on Paul's couch. Someday, maybe soon, he and Evie would have to figure out the gentlest way to tell Keel the truth.

But not today. "Do you know of any reason why two ghosts who were family members wouldn't be able to see each other in the afterlife?"

Alva replied, "There are several possibilities. But why are you asking such a question, Paul? Are you afraid you won't be reunited with your mother?"

Paul had hoped that Keel wouldn't ask any questions, but he should have known that was just wishful thinking. He quickly whipped up a sufficient lie. "No, nothing like that. Audrey visited me, in my apartment. After the Winchesters left. She started crying because she had searched all over the afterlife and couldn't find her grandmother, though her grandmother is dead. She said some non-human beings on the other side had told her that some ghosts just couldn't see each other, but they wouldn't tell her why. Do you have any ideas?"

"Hm. That's awfully sad for the girl." Frowning slightly, Alva thought that over. "There are a few different possibilities. Now, these are just theories, mind you. We can only know so much about the afterlife before we get there. But it might be that Audrey cannot see her grandmother because her grandmother has moved on, accepted her death, and Audrey has not. Audrey still has work to do here on Earth. She's worried for Kellen, and it keeps her from moving on. Audrey also died violently. Many people who die violently get stuck here.

"There's also suicide to consider. Suicide often keeps a person from moving on. We know that can't be it, though, unless her grandmother died that way."

Paul nodded. "I'll ask her next time I see her. So, how do we reunite them?"

"You have to figure out what's keeping them apart first."

Paul could do that. Maybe he could even solve this on his own, without having to cause Alva pain with the knowledge that it was his mother and sister Paul was talking about. "Okay. Oh, something else really weird happened, too. Remember, I'm empathic. We know that the feelings of the dead often affect me as well as the living."

"Yes."

"When Audrey started to cry, I started to cry."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." Alva began.

"That's not the weird thing, though. Right after, Dean Winchester calls me from the highway to ask me if I'm okay. At the same moment, he was overcome with tears, and said he felt me in the car with him," Paul explained.

Alva looked up from his work on the splintered side rails of the table with a sharp jerk of his head. "Are you quite serious?"

Paul nodded.

"Did Samuel feel it too?"

"Not at all."

His brow deeply furrowed, Alva let the theories rush through his head, picking through them for something that made sense. "You didn't do this consciously?"

"No."

"If this was an incident of projected empathy, you would think Samuel would've felt it too."

Paul nodded his agreement. He didn't see Evie come into the room from out of Alva's office, her arms full of files.

"Unless the ability Diane McNeal passed on to you played a part in why it happened."

Looking confused, Paul shook his head. "But don't I have to touch a person to cause them to experience those abilities?"

"Perhaps your empathy has mixed with her projective clairvoyance. And this is the result?" Alva offered.

"Sort of a... you got your peanut butter in my chocolate, your chocolate in my peanut butter?" said Paul with a grin. He couldn't help but make the joke; it was too easy.

Evie snorted.

Although he smiled, Alva replied seriously, "Well, yes."

Paul fidgeted with the screwdriver, turning it over in his hand. "Samuel, uh, Sam had an interesting theory. He thought maybe an empathic connection had been formed between myself and Dean. It would explain why Dean felt it so strongly and Sam didn't feel it at all."

Both Alva and Evie looked at Paul as if that was a strange explanation. "If an empathic connection has been formed, you did it, Paul. Why would you forge a connection with Dean?" Evie interjected.

Paul stared down at the table sheepishly, suddenly finding it very interesting. "Um... well, I didn't do it consciously. Maybe it's because there's some sort of connection between us already. The reason why the Mothman brought us together?"

Alva shrugged. This "empathic connection" with Dean Winchester made him uneasy. "I suppose. We should make a list of these theories, and see which one pans out."

Paul suddenly jerked like a lightbulb had come on over his head. "Oh! I almost forgot." He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. "I had a sleepwalking incident this morning, and I said some things. Dean made a list." He handed the paper to Alva. "What do you make of that?"

Taking the paper, Alva read it over. The further he got into the list of things Paul had said, the paler his face became. He swallowed hard. "Astounding."

"What?" asked Evie.

"Paul... the forces within you have a certain amount of omniscience. The things you said here... the things _they_ said here... a person said them to me in a dream I had about the Apocalypse."

Astonished, Paul said, "Really?"

"Yes. This part about people being fragile, being given powers that seem too strong for mere humans, and how it's a bad system. That's almost word for word," Alva sighed. "And this at the end, where you made the cracking sound - I heard a similar sound in my dream. Like the sky was cracking in two."

Paul and Evie both reeled a little. "Why have you kept these dreams a secret?" asked Paul.

"I didn't want to worry anyone until I could find out more. After the research I've done, I'm still not even sure why it's me having these dreams, and not you," Alva said to Paul.

Putting his hands in his pockets, Paul breathed out heavily and looked down at the rag he'd used to clean the blood off his coffee table. He wished, just for a second, that his blood would spell out words that would explain everything for once, instead of just deepening the mystery. "Maybe... after all this... the dreams you've had, the odd connections between myself and all these complete strangers, the words written in blood... maybe I need to start admitting to myself that there _is_ something going on here. That the possibility of the Apocalypse... is real. It may not be fire and brimstone falling from the sky, but... something is going to happen. Something devastating."

Relieved and resigned, Alva nodded his head. "It's our job to figure it out, and how we prevent it."

Paul thought about that a long time, and finally nodded back.


	3. A distant voice in the darkness

**A Distant Voice in the Darkness**  
A _Miracles/Supernatural_ Cross-over  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

**Chapters:** Separated into 3 Parts; 3 of 3  
**Rating:** Adult Supervision Suggested for those under 13 for bad language (including several uses of the F word)  
**Dates:** Written July 2006  
**Summary:** Dean and Sam head back to Vermont to try to pick up the Mothman's trail, while Paul deals with his haunted apartment. People brush past each other, so close by, but all just out of reach. A _Miracles/Supernatural_ cross-over, which slashes Dean Winchester/Paul Callan. (But there is no sex in this story.)  
**Timeline:** Happens after the _Supernatural_ episode "The Benders" and before "Shadow," which moves the _Miracles_ timeline up to 2006.  
**Warning:** Contains spoilers for all of _Miracles_ and _Supernatural_ up to "The Benders."  
**Betas:** Thanks to Meredevachon and KaijaWest for the excellent, helpful beta reads.

**_Part 3: A distant voice in the darkness_**

"Spadoodle." Dean punched Sam in the arm. A car with only one headlight, the other being broken, drove by.

"You're only supposed to do that when the headlight is _lit_," protested Sam. "It's the middle of the day."

"Who made up that rule?" Dean scoffed.

Sam spotted a VW Bug. "Slug bug," he said, and socked his brother one in the upper arm.

"We better find this road soon, or we're both going to have black and blue arms before dinnertime." Dean scanned the side roads as they passed them.

Sam pointed at a two-lane dirt road. "That's it! I recognize that mailbox." He indicated a mailbox shaped and painted like a pig.

Dean turned down the road. "When you see the area where the Mothman attacked, just yell."

The road was not well traveled, and so was fairly bumpy. Dean accidentally ran over a large rock, shaking Sam up and down so hard that he struck his head on the roof of the car. "OWW!" he howled.

With a nod, Dean stopped the car. "That was a figure of speech, dude."

Glaring, Sam responded, "I yelled because... nevermind. That grouping of trees up ahead _does_ look familiar. Let's have a look around."

After several minutes of searching, Sam called to Dean, "I found something!"

Dean ran over. "What?" He looked at the small, partially evaporated puddle of slightly glowing green ooze on the ground. "Mothman blood."

"There's a trail leading off into there," Sam said, pointing deeper into the woods.

They tracked the blood trail as far as it would go. It led to a dilapidated shack someone was using for tool storage. The shack was on the property of a nearby out-of-the-way mansion, far enough from the house that the residents probably never heard a thing of whatever had happened here. Most of the decaying green blood was here, all over the floor of the shack in puddles here and there.

"How can the trail just end?" Dean wondered aloud. "Did it bandage its own wounds and then fly off?"

"I wouldn't think a Mothman would typically carry a first aid kit. Well, we know it was here, but..." Sam suddenly squeezed his eyes shut, put his fingers to the bridge of his nose, and groaned in pain.

"Sam?"

"Vis - ion," Sam managed to stutter, before the mental picture overtook him.

He saw two people, a guy and a girl, milling around the shack. Both were young, around their early twenties, and blond. She was seated on a pile of cement bags with one of her arms stretched out straight, fingers open and feeling at the empty air. Her eyes were closed. The guy walked aimlessly along the right wall of the shack, waiting for her to finish what she was doing. Finger running along the wood, _scraaaaape_... Sam could hear every sound like he was there.

"Are they okay?" the guy asked the girl.

"Yeah, the cop just said something about going back to find the gun. He and Sam are driving away now." She opened her eyes and brought her hand to them, rubbing at the inner corners. "We need to find a place for the day. I don't think this is... it..."

She stared at a figure in the doorway in absolute shock. It was hulking, huge, one wing flapping absently while the other bled lime green blood. The Mothman.

The girl opened her mouth to scream, but before she could get any sound out, the creature had moved swiftly to her brother's side. He started to turn to see what his sister was looking at that way _(they're brother and sister)_ when the Mothman grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the wall behind him. His eyes shot wide open, not only in reaction to being manhandled, but because of the sight of what was doing the manhandling.

The girl sprang up. "Eric!" _(eric it's dean's eric not so lucky right now)_

The Mothman's "voice" invaded her head like a dagger, like a ten-inch needle. _FIX IT,_ it said, and it pointed to its wing. _OR I SNAP HIS NECK._

Sam, suddenly torn out of the vision, stumbled across the floor a foot before Dean was there to catch him. "Sam! Sam! Are you alright?"

Sam had hoped that with the last vision, it meant the end of them causing him headaches, but the pain was back. It settled into a temporary, dull ache once the vision had released its hold on him. Sam took a deep breath and rubbed his temple. "That one hurt."

"I wonder why the last one didn't, then." Dean tried to lead his brother over to the pile of cement bags, to sit down.

Sam allowed himself to be led there, and took a seat. He could still feel the girl here. What some would call a psychic signature. "I think it may have to do with the nature of the vision. How deeply I go into it. This one, I was pretty deep. Right there with them, almost."

"Them?"

"I saw how the Mothman got his wing fixed. There were some people here, in this shack, for some reason. Dean, it was your friends, Eric and Savannah."

Looking doubtful, Dean narrowed his eyes and took a step back. "Huh? What would they be doing here?" Sammy's visions must be going haywire on him. "How were they dressed?"

"They were both blond. Her, a tight long-sleeve tie-dye shirt in dark colors, and jeans. Bell-bottoms. Him, layered shirts, a black t-shirt on top of a striped shirt with long sleeves. Looks like he's a little stuck on the grunge look. He could almost win a Kurt Cobain look-alike contest. Jeans were tattered," Sam described.

Dean folded his arms across his chest, pacing a few feet away and back. "That's them. Definitely them. Why? Why the hell would they be here?"

Sam realized that as he sat on the bags of cement, where Savannah had been sitting, he began receiving impressions from her, from the psychic residue she left behind. "They were here because I was here."

"They're following us?"

"Yeah." Sam started rubbing his eyes. "Because Keel asked them to."

Dean growled, "I know that, but when did he ask them to renew the spying?"

"Pretty recently, because I started hunting with you again," explained Sam.

"So Keel asked them to begin following us again way before we met SQ?"

"Yes."

"How do you know all this stuff, anyway? Seems like it was a pretty involved vision," confirmed Dean with a nod of his head. He wanted to understand as much as he could about his brother's new abilities.

Patting a bag of cement, Sam said, "Savannah sat right here. I'm somehow... feeding off these vibes she left behind. Because she's clairvoyant, like you said. They were here, and then the Mothman came in - "

"Shit, are they okay!"

Sam heard the concern Dean could not hide from his voice. "Yeah, they're fine. They did what the Mothman wanted - mended his wing - so he left them without doing anything to them." He purposefully left out the part about the Mothman threatening to snap Eric's neck; it would just worry Dean.

"But why did our friend the moth pick them to mend his wing? Because they were close by?"

"That, and..." Sam listened to something Dean could not hear for about ten seconds. "...people with psychic abilities shine in the dark to a being like the Mothman. They are platinum among human beings. Like beacons."

Dean raised his eyebrows, looking down, and nodded. "Explains why it went after you and Paul, too. So we're not going to find the Mothman dead by the road somewhere, huh?"

"Nope. He took off once his wing was taken care of."

"Damn."

Sam just made a face at his brother. He knew Dean never wanted to do the interrogation of the Mothman; they were always going to butt heads on it. "Savannah and Eric are still in the area. She's able to locate us by doing her thing, her clairvoyance. She feels out for people, but - " Pausing, Sam rubbed at his eyes, blinked, then looked up at Dean with confusion. A few seconds later, his eyes seemed to clear whatever was bothering them. "That was weird. For a few seconds, it was like... my vision grayed. I couldn't..."

"You couldn't see?" asked Dean.

"Yeah."

Dean made a noise of amazement. "You really _are_ feeling Savvy's vibes, aren't ya?"

"What? Is she blind?" Sam asked.

"No. But when she uses her clairvoyance, it makes her blind for a while afterward."

Sam was stunned. "Really?"

"Yeah. The level of blindness, how long it lasts... all affected by how deep she goes in and for how long." Dean got down on one knee in front of his brother. "Sammy, don't take this the wrong way, but the intensity of your powers is starting to worry me a little."

"What, why?"

"You don't see it, dude. Your abilities are expanding. The more days go by, the more stuff you can do. This vision thing you've got; in the past, it was always about the future. Savvy and Eric were here _yesterday_."

Sam realized he was right. "Oh..."

Dean gave a curt nod. "Not only did you sense Savannah's vibes, but you just had an incident of retrocognition. You saw the past."

Trying not to make a big deal out of it, Sam didn't say the things he was thinking, but inside, he was stunned at the realization. It did seem as if he was just piling on the powers. Would there be an end to what Sam could do, or would the visions of the past and future eventually leave no room for the present? "Huh... I guess you're right."

Dean nodded again, standing up straight. "I don't think we should stay here too much longer. The property isn't deserted, and that could mean trouble. Come on." He helped Sam to his feet. "We'll get a hotel room for the night. You look worn out."

As they walked back to the Impala, Sam tried to shake off how tired and achy he still was, wondering if the visions were always going to cause him to feel like this. He wished he could achieve more control over his abilities. There must be ways. At least Sam didn't have to go _blind_ to have these visions. "Why did Savannah originally come to you and Dad? Or did you guys contact her? Did she have information for you?" he asked Dean curiously.

With a small laugh, Dean replied, "No. Savvy and Eric came to us concerning their psychic abilities."

They had reached the Impala; Sam leaned against its side. "What did they want?"

Dean looked over the hood at his brother with quite the serious look on his face. "They wanted us to _cure_ them."

advitd

"What did you call it again?" asked Sam, lifting the wet rag he had folded over his eyes and forehead so he could see Dean as he emerged from the hotel room's bathroom.

Dean was still shaving with a cordless electric razor; he hadn't gotten a chance to shave at Paul's. "Karmic displacement."

Sam put the rag back and rested on his pillow. "That's very rare. Didn't Dad describe it as, like, a magnetic field surrounding a person that influences the luck of the people around them?"

"That's the short story, yeah. Typically, karma works in a balanced manner. You get what you give; you get what you deserve. But then you have people like Eric, who throw off the balance of karma through no fault of their own. Karma gets displaced. Bad things happen to good people. Some seem to receive more than their fair share of good fortune. Evil goes unpunished. That's the theory." Dean turned off the razor and rubbed his hand over his chin.

Sam spoke to Dean with his eyes closed. "Does he have any control over who gets good luck from him and who gets bad luck?"

Dean almost shook his head, but realized Sam wouldn't be able to see it with his eyes shut. "No. None at all."

"That sucks."

"That's why he wanted to be cured." Dean blew hair off the razor, then tossed it into his bag. "As you can probably guess, she wanted to be rid of her powers because of the temporary blindness. Savvy has no control over that either. How long it lasts, or when it happens."

There was a long pause of silence from Sam. But eventually, he said, "You and Dad never found a cure, huh?"

Dean knew what he was thinking. "No. Unfortunately, no. There is no cure for a thing like that." _Not even for you, Sammy._

A little bit of a pout came to Sam's lips.

Dean watched him, frowning himself. "How do you feel?"

Sam raised a hand and wiggled it back and forth to indicate he was so-so. "I've been better. But it's not so bad. Just a dull ache now. I liked the vision I had about Dad's journal. No pain there."

"Yeah, but that one was short. Real short. In fact, it was probably the shortest one you've had yet." Dean took out his wallet to count how much cash he had. "That probably has a lot to do with how much you hurt afterward."

Sam made an "mmm" sound.

"Well, I'm going to go get us some grub." Dean snapped up his car keys. "Get some rest. I'll be back soon."

Sam made that same sound, his arm draped over his head.

Once he'd gotten as far as the Impala, Dean did not get in; first, he took out his cell phone and looked through the list of stored numbers. _Brandy, Lee, Stacy, Michelle, Caleb... I've really got to alphabetize this thing some - HE-llo. Savannah Coleman._ He selected that one and pressed the CALL button.

She answered on the second ring. "John Michael Osbourne, huh? That could only be one person. Hey, Dean. About time you called. Did you get a new number?"

Yes, he had gotten a new phone number since they last talked. Anytime the name on Savannah's Caller ID belonged to a rock star, the odds were good it was actually Dean calling. Consequently, it didn't surprise him that she knew who was on the line. "I sure did."

"My God, Dean... we haven't spoken in a really long time. How have you been?"

He did his best to contain his anger for now. But that didn't mean he was going to pull any punches. "Oh come on now, Savvy. You know exactly how I've been. You just felt out for me with your clairvoyance."

She paused, like she was choosing her words carefully. "Sometimes."

"I think it was lots of times." Dean couldn't help it; an edge had crept into his voice.

Savannah put a shrug into her tone. "Why would I do that? You know how it affects me."

"Oh, I dunno... maybe because somebody was paying you?"

Dean didn't need to see her to know that she'd tensed up. "What are you talking about?"

It was at this point that Dean snapped. "Don't play dumb with me, you backstabbing bitch. I know about the file Keel hired you to help him make. I know about the photographs and how you played me to get the picture of the Impala's trunk. How much of it did you fake to get me to trust you?"

She sighed. "Dean, I - "

But he continued to lay into her. "That's a dangerous file for certain people to see, Savannah. If my dad knew about some of those pictures, I wouldn't hear the end of it for all of eternity and you know it. I can't believe you did this to me. From now on, you are no longer working for Alva Keel, do you hear me? If you ever do anything like this again, I don't care if you are a girl, we are going to throw down. You got that, bitch?"

"Come on, Dean, you know me. I gotta take care of me and mine first."

"Yeah, I know all about it, but this is a new level of greed, even for you. I _trusted_ you. I taught you how to do the credit card scams. If I wanted to find you right now, I'd know exactly what name to look for in all the hotel registries. I even let you drive my car. But I guess I should've remembered that your primary loyalty is to money." Dean was so angry, he was practically spitting, but once he got on a roll, he found it hard to stop.

Something about what he said made Savannah mad right back. "Oh, so you're totally your own man, Winchester? Like you're not your father's bitch, always doing everything he says?"

"Hey, you can fuck off and die, Coleman! Don't _even_ mess with me!"

A few of the hotel's other guests who were in the parking lot turned their heads and gawked. Dean didn't even see them.

Realizing that she had just about alienated Dean, Savannah quickly changed her tune, speaking sweetly. "Dean, Dean, wait. I'm sorry, okay? Let's not be like this. I want to make it up to you. What can I do?"

Dean tried to calm down, so he could tell her exactly what he wanted. He had already given this some thought. "You want to make it up to me? Here's what you can do. Like I said, you don't work for Alva Keel anymore. You work for _me_ now."

"Whadda ya mean?" Savannah asked.

"I'm going to make a file about Alva Keel. You're going to get me pictures, lots of pictures of stuff that would make _him_ uncomfortable. I'm going to put it all together and make sure he sees it. That guy's gotta know what it feels like, 'cause I'm sure no one's ever given him a taste of his own medicine. You start as soon as you can get to Boston," Dean ordered.

She couldn't help but laugh a little. "Can't I at least have the night off?"

"Whatever, just head over there soon."

"Are you going to pay me anything for this little job?"

"You get paid in my respect."

Savannah sighed. "Respect doesn't buy medical care for my little brother, Winchester. I can't use the fake credit cards for that. Just 'cause you're always flirting with getting caught doesn't mean I use the cards that recklessly."

"Fine, I'll pay you _something_. But remember, for the most part, you owe me here." Dean stopped long enough to take a breath. "How is Eric, anyway?"

"Kinda bad lately. Lots of abdominal pain. Lotsa cramps."

"You ever get a proper diagnosis?" Dean leaned against the driver's side door, hugging his chest with his other arm.

Savannah just laughed. "Like we can get a proper diagnosis from a free clinic."

Biting at his bottom lip, Dean let it go. He had enough to worry about with his own family. "Right. Well, you take down my new number and you call me as soon as you get to Boston, okay? I'm keeping tabs on you from now on."

She grinned to herself. "You missed us, huh?"

"Naw," Dean shot right back. "I just want to make sure you're working on my file."

Savannah almost frowned, but she knew Dean well enough to know how he hid his real feelings unless he desperately needed you to know how he felt. He cared. "Yeah, right. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Wait. Just remembered, there's some stuff I wanna ask you."

"What?"

"Keel asked you to start following us again when Sam rejoined me in the hunt, right?" queried Dean.

"Uh, yeah. Around January. Said he'd heard some stuff from his parapsychology friends about it. They've got quite the grapevine there," Savannah explained.

"Not a very _fast_ grapevine," Dean chuckled with satisfaction. Took two months for them to pass the news on, _ha ha_ to them.

"Yeah, well..."

"What were you doing in Vermont to begin with?"

Savannah paused a long time before answering. "I felt out for you and Sam a couple days before it happened. Um... saw Sam get taken by that thing. I'm really sorry I wasn't able to help you, Dean. You were real worried."

A chill ran up Dean's back. "You saw the Mothman take Sam?"

"Clairvoyantly, yeah," she replied.

"Then why didn't you tell me where he was? Do you have any idea..."

"Dean, you know my powers don't work as easily as all that. I don't immediately see big signs that say, 'Hey, this is the Mothman, and he's taken Sam here, and this is the number where you can reach Dean.' I see the events as an observer from many miles away. I wasn't even sure what city you and Sam were in to begin with. By the time I figured out where the Motel Cascade was, you were in your car and zip, gone! We don't even have a car; how was I supposed to catch you? It's not like I even knew your new number then, either. I did everything I could, but Eric and I are only human." Savannah sighed. "I can't watch you guys 24-7. I tried to figure it all out as soon as I could."

Dean sighed too. "I know. I know. Sorry. I just... wish you could have contacted me."

"Me too. It never even occured to me to try your dad..."

"Mm. Shit, that would have solved everything. He's got my new number on his voicemail message."

Shaking her head, Savannah scoffed at the irony of missed opportunities. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"It's okay. I don't expect you to keep watch 24-7."

"Damn near did anyway, while that creature had its clutches on Sam. I wanted to make sure he was all right. We got a lucky break when Sam passed by a sign that said, 'Welcome to Mountaineer, Vermont.' As soon as I saw that, Eric and I hurried out to the road and stuck out our thumbs. It's kind of easy to get a ride when you're blind; people feel sorry for you. I played it up and everything. Stood there with a cane and shit." Savannah giggled. "They don't know it's only temporary.

"I was so relieved when Sam called you. Our ride to Vermont got us there right at the end, just before the cop picked him up."

"Yeah, I know. We tried to pick up the Mothman's trail today, and Sammy, he..." How did Dean explain this? Savannah would probably know what he meant. But did she realize Sam had abilities now too? "...Sammy... felt you there, in the shack. He saw when the Mothman attacked you guys, through retrocognition."

Pausing to find the right words, Savannah said, "So Sam's developed some psychic powers. Or rather, he's _discovered_ them. They've been there all along."

Dean looked at the ground. He wrestled with what he knew to be the truth. Sammy didn't want these powers; Dean wanted to help him be rid of them. But neither could have things their way. "Seems so."

"Sammy'll be okay. He just needs some time to get used to it." Savannah took a breath, to give Dean time to mull that over. "Where the hell did that thing come from, Dean? Was that really the Mothman?" she finally asked, stunned.

"Yeah. According to Keel, it comes from the fourth dimension," Dean replied.

"Yeah? Where the fuck is that?"

"I dunno," Dean shrugged. "Some intellectual shit that doesn't mean anything in the real world. We'll just call it Mothmanland."

They shared a chuckle.

"When that thing appeared in the doorway of the shack, I nearly shit," laughed Savannah. She shuddered all over. "I had stopped feeling out just before it swooped down, so I didn't see it coming at all. It starts screaming at me in my head - 'Fix my wing, beotch!' Only thing was, I was going _blind_. Eric had to do all the work, poor baby."

Dean chortled again.

"The last few days have been an absolute _mess_, me spending all my time either feeling out for Sam and sometimes you, or being blind as a result of it, and then what happened to Eric, oh man!" Savannah covered her face with her hand and shook her head back and forth slowly, chuckling to herself. "He got some of the Mothman's blood on him when he fixed the monster's wing. Eric tried to wash it off, but... the stuff knocked his ass out."

"Really!" cried Dean, trying not to laugh. It _shouldn't_ be funny...

"Yup. We manage to get a hotel room, and we walk in the door, me blind as a bat by now, and all I hear is WHUMP! Eric's down for the count." She held the phone on her shoulder so she could slap her hands together at the time she cried "WHUMP," to accentuate it.

Her brother, sitting nearby and listening in on her end of the call, glared at her. "Not funny," he grumbled.

Not able to hold it back, Dean had a good laugh over that. "God, what a pain in the ass that must've been."

"Tell me about it. But we survived," Savannah said.

Biting at his bottom lip, Dean got control of the chuckles and told her, "Hey, thanks, Savvy. Thanks for looking after my brother. I know that must've been tough, all those hours of blindness, and watching everything happen from afar without being able to help. You did your best. I won't forget it."

She smiled. "Yeah, well... you talked so much about Sammy during the year you and your dad spent in Tampa, I almost felt like he was _my_ brother too." Then she added, "Good _lord_, he's tall."

They made plans to talk the next day, and said their goodbyes. Dean hung up, sighed, and got into the car to go retrieve his and Sam's dinner.

Once off the phone, Savannah turned to her brother, who was sitting on the low dresser that held the hotel television. "Was that _Dean Winchester_ you were talking to?" he asked.

"The one and only."

"It's been ages since we talked to him. Why did he call?"

Savannah told Eric everything Dean had said, all the things Eric hadn't been able to figure out on his own from what he'd heard of her end of the conversation. "We're supposed to head back to Boston tomorrow."

The dresser had a lip of overhang on the front; Eric gripped it with both hands nervously at the thought of possibly seeing Dean Winchester again. He'd admit to anyone who wanted to know that he was helplessly infatuated with the most gorgeous, buffest blond hottie he'd ever seen. "Are we really going to stop working for Keel?"

"Oh, Eric, Eric, Eric... silly boy. I'm going to get us the house, the car, and the cushy medical plan. We'll have it all. I can keep playing both sides against the middle and no one will know. How can anyone get hurt? It's just a bunch of pictures." Savannah stood and crossed the room to her brother, reaching out to mess up his hair, which she knew he hated. He batted her hands away. "Dean said I had to stop working for _Alva_ Keel. That's all."

advitd

Sam was feeling much better after the take-out that Dean brought back, especially since he had tried to get a few healthy things, like actual vegetables. "Where are we headed next, since we lost the Mothman's trail?" Sam asked.

What Dean said next surprised him. "We're going back to Boston."

"Really? You feel ready?"

"Yeah..." Dean sighed. "Yeah. I do. What we've got to do here is draw the Mothman out to our dimension again. It's the only way we'll ever capture him. If you're bound and determined to do this, then I'm going to make sure we do it right. But I could use everyone's mind on this. I want all ideas out there, all the pros and cons."

Sam started to nod, but their conversation was cut short when his phone rang. "Hello? Oh, hey Caleb. What's up?"

"Hi Sam, uh... your dad asked me to call."

"Okay, sure. About what?"

Caleb knew this was going to be a little awkward. "You wanted to know some things about the Goodwells and 'God is Nowhere'?"

It slowly dawned on Sam what was going on. He looked at Dean and frowned. "Dad asked you to call instead of him?"

"Uh... yeah."

Sam hardly heard Caleb making excuses for their father; he was too distracted by the feeling of his heart sinking, and the look on Dean's face. The disappointed, disheartened look.

But Sam listened to the story anyway. By the time the call was done, Dean was on the bed next to him, his ear to Sam's phone as well, so they could both hear as much of the conversation as they could. Lydia Goodwell had gotten in touch with John Winchester because a psychic she had gone to on a lark with a bunch of friends had told her that her then baby son, Chad, was going to do something horrible someday, something she would be powerless to stop. In fact, the psychic had collapsed to the floor muttering over and over about "the darkness" laying claim to Chad's soul.

"Your dad also wanted you to be careful around this Paul guy. He said he's not sure about Paul, whether or not he's one of the good guys. He's got something to do with the whole thing, that's for sure," said Caleb. "Remember, Chad killed a bunch of people over all this. It's some bad shit you're getting into here."

"That's just like any other day," Dean replied with a roll of his eyes. He knew exactly what side Paul Callan was on.

Although Dean was not the one on the mouthpiece, Caleb still heard him easily. "Your dad said it was an order. Watch your back."

"Always do," Sam added. "Thanks Caleb."

After Sam hung up, Dean seemed different. Glum. His father had snubbed him again.

Sam tried to find something that would cheer him up. "Dad didn't say we had to stay away from Paul altogether. Just to be careful around him."

"Yeah." There was a long pause. "I hope we can do this Mothman thing alone. Because if we try to get Dad's help, he'll just send Caleb."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. Do you really think we can do this?"

Standing up, Dean walked over to the mirror hanging next to the television and checked himself out. He put on a winning smile, pumping himself up for what was to come. Getting even with Keel. Capturing the Mothman. Facing Paul with the truth. He could do it. He could do it _all_. He was Dean Winchester. "Definitely."

**A Distant Voice in the Darkness** (c) 2006 Demented Stuff  
**Miracles** (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment & Touchstone Television  
**Supernatural** (c) 2005 Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland, & Warner Brothers/The CW Television

_**Additional Notes:** Again, Eric is not named Eric because of Eric Kripke. The name just fit him._

Thanks to Mere for helping me name this story. I mentioned to her that the theme of the story seemed to be about people passing each other, brushing close by, but always staying just out of reach. The theme is explored over and over. Dean's refusal to tell Sam his secret (although Sam already knows), Paul's empathic connection to Dean brushing his psyche, the ghosts in Paul's apartment not being able to see or touch each other though they occupy the same space, Paul's refusal to share his secret life with Alva and Evie, Savannah's clairvoyant visitations, Sam having retrocognitive visions of her right back, Savannah keeping a devastating secret from Dean, John's letter from the past, and John's self-imposed estrangement from his boys when he again refuses to make direct contact with them. In many cases, people are barely aware, or not at all aware, of these brief intersections. I wanted a title that embodied all of that in one phrase.

Mere found it for me in the poem included at the beginning of the story.


End file.
